Chapter 8: At the appearance of Kiriyan Hischleger, Yvonne quickly bowed her head.
No matter how much she tried to lower her voice and act rough like a man, it didn’t hide her delicate face.
Above all, Franz resembled her so much that anyone could easily believe they were siblings.
*“If things go wrong, I’ll just say Franz is my cousin.”*
Shivering slightly, Yvonne tried to walk past him.
Since their first encounter at the palace had been a disaster, even acknowledging him now felt like a huge discourtesy.
“Hey. Stop.”
Kiriyan’s gaze toward her was different from how he’d looked at Franz the other day—sharp and vicious, as if ready to stab.
With her head deeply lowered, Yvonne, on the verge of tears, called for Paradi in her heart.
*“I must be crazy. Coming to the palace alone like this.”*
But who could have known that the infamous Duke Hischleger would come to work at the palace on such a pleasant weekend?
She had assumed he’d be comfortably resting at home with a cup of coffee.
“You.”
“Y-yes?”
Kiriyan narrowed his eyes.
He couldn’t understand how she was alive. He had clearly ordered Yvonne Moore’s death—so how was this woman walking around?
*“She must’ve been lucky enough to be hiding out in the countryside.”*
With that thought, he waved his hand.
“Never mind. Go.”
He clicked his tongue as Yvonne fled. Just seeing her hunched shoulders told him how timid she was.
He hated people like Yvonne Moore. Watching someone so weak made his skin crawl.
Thinking of that brought his younger brother Franz to mind.
The Franz he remembered was a crybaby and a coward. He pouted, was stubborn, and was absurdly naive about the world.
Franz was a collection of traits Kiriyan found intolerable. And yet, Franz was different.
*“He looked the same as ever.”*
When they reunited a week ago, Franz had turned pale and trembled. Kiriyan had wondered if the notorious troublemaker from the back alleys had grown braver, but apparently not.
Though, still…
*“Of all people, he had to be friends with someone like that.”*
The heir to the Marquis of Lorang being Franz’s close friend was unexpected.
That brat’s filthy temper and rebellious gaze were irritating, but in some ways, it might be a good thing.
It meant Franz had grown up comfortably in a good household. And someone as sensitive as Franz might need a fiery type beside him.
Lost in thought, Kiriyan reached the emperor’s office.
“Your Grace, you’ve arrived. His Majesty is waiting.”
The emperor—his biological father’s elder brother—resembled the previous Grand Duke Hischleger whom Kiriyan had once met.
But Kiriyan himself did not resemble them at all.
His black hair and yellow eyes came entirely from his mother, a foreign-born courtesan.
“You’re here.”
“You look well, Your Majesty.”
“Perhaps I’m happy to see my nephew.”
Kiriyan scoffed inwardly at the empty flattery.
The emperor had never once acknowledged him as a nephew.
Had Kiriyan not manifested the imperial family’s special ability, he would’ve remained nothing more than one of Furtra’s wild mutts.
In truth, his recognition was largely due to his exceptional business talent.
Since he entered the imperial household, the empire’s treasury had expanded rapidly. Every enterprise he proposed and had the imperial family invest in had become a tremendous success.
“How goes the preparations for the diamond enterprise?”
“Well. There is nothing to worry about.”
“Good. But Kiriyan… a problem has arisen.”
“What problem, Your Majesty?”
“Your great-grandfather, Emperor Anterta III, believed the northeastern diamond mine had reached the end of its life. Mining technology wasn’t developed back then, so it was practically an abandoned mine.”
“And… what are you implying?”
“He believed the mine was useless, so he sold it cheaply to others. Naturally, the mining rights were transferred as well.”
Kiriyan frowned slightly.
He had pushed forward with confidence, boasting that there’d be no issue providing the mine. But now, the one responsible was telling him otherwise.
The emperor took an old document from a drawer and handed it to him. It was a mine sale contract.
The confirmed purchaser was…
“Count Edmund Moore…”
“As far as I know, the only remaining descendant of House Moore is a young heiress. I’ve heard of her—her name is notorious in the capital, isn’t it? The greedy Yvonne Moore.”
“…”
“Well. Just acquire the mining rights from Miss Moore—or reclaim the mine.”
Kiriyan forced himself not to let his face twist.
“Reclaiming” it—what a pleasant way of saying *steal from the rightful heir what was legally purchased.*
Of course, such things weren’t difficult for him. But the emperor’s attitude disgusted him.
How low the emperor must think of him, to only reveal this at the final stage of business negotiations—and without a single word of apology.
*“Good thing Yvonne Moore is still alive.”*
If she were dead, the inheritance would’ve passed to some distant relative, making the situation far more complicated.
On the way home, he checked Yvonne Moore’s records.
An orphan who lost her parents young, yet clever enough to hire a lawyer to protect her assets from relatives who tried to claim guardianship. She rarely left her mansion, showed little interest in society, and occasionally had mysterious visitors.
That was all.
For a twenty-one-year-old young lady, the absence of problems was more remarkable.
Upon returning home, Kiriyan immediately sent Yvonne a letter—politely requesting to visit her soon on important business.
The letter reached Yvonne that very evening through her maid, Beth.
But the letter, placed on a corner of the desk, was blown off by a breeze from the slightly open window and fell to the floor.
Thus Yvonne remained unaware of its existence, instead searching for a book in the library while chatting with Paradi.
“It’s evening—won’t you play the second movement of *Balzac’s Spring*?”
“Wait. I have something else to play today.”
“What will you play?”
“You’ll see.”
“Why are you being so secretive today?”
“Don’t be ridiculous—and starting tomorrow, stay hidden at home. What if Kiriyan Hischleger realized you were Franz? You *do* know what Franz’s nicknames are, right?”
“I know. The Dwarf of the Back Alley, the Crazy Oddball, the Vomit Fairy.”
“‘Vomit Fairy’—like that’s something to brag about. And there’s nothing good about getting involved with that bastard. His reputation is terrible.”
“What kind of terrible?”
Paradi nearly told her that Kiriyan seemed to *own* Furtra—but stopped. Yvonne was already a timid thing; telling her would only frighten her more.
“Anyway, just trust me. He’s someone you should be careful around. And those assassins who came to your house last time haven’t shown up again—that worries me. How about staying at my place again tomorrow?”
“I can’t. I’d feel bad toward the Marquis.”
“He adores you.”
“Who on earth sent them…”
“No idea. What matters is that since you refuse to stay at my house, I’ll just move into yours. By the way, what on earth were you doing on top of the piano for it to end up like this?”
Paradi sighed deeply as he tuned the piano.
He couldn’t tell her that she’d come home drunk after playing Franz outside and jumped around on top of the piano.
If he said that, she’d probably be banned from going out—and from drinking.
“Just read something while I finish this.”
“Okay. Hold on.”
Yvonne opened a book. Her calm voice tickled Paradi’s ears. Smooth and low, it resembled her temperament.
*“Erotic affection is not all there is to love. The world pretends it is the highest value, but once you blindfold the eyes that fail to distinguish sincerity, you can see the essence of love that seeps deep into the soul.”*
Paradi glanced at her as he worked. He loved watching her read.
She looked like she’d only enjoy adventure novels, but in truth she devoured books from all genres.
The world didn’t know Yvonne’s true worth. They dismissed her as selfish, unaware of how kind she really was.
She secretly acted as an anonymous benefactor for her impoverished theater friends.
*“Greedy Yvonne Moore? Absurd.”*
He hoped people would recognize her sincerity—but if they didn’t, it didn’t matter.
Anyone who truly knew Yvonne Moore couldn’t help falling in love with her. Paradi had no desire to create competition.
After finishing the tuning, Paradi prepared to play.
“I wrote a new poem. Want to hear it?”
“Mm-hmm. Yes.”
A gentle melody flowed from his fingertips.
Romantic as the twinkling stars in a peaceful country night sky; warm and tender like spring sunlight and soft breezes.
Yvonne closed her eyes and listened.
“If a man lives by love, then the strength that keeps me alive is my love for you.”
“I love your bright eyes like summer wildflowers, and your smile that sparkles like sunlight dancing on ripples.”
“But those are merely reasons why you are lovable.”
Yvonne felt her heart pound at Paradi’s love poem.
He was in love with someone.
He adored her eyes and smile—but that was not the essence of his love.
A mix of jealousy and fluttering spread in Yvonne’s chest as she savored his poem.
The woman Paradi loved must suit him perfectly.
Like two halves of a torn page—only whole when together.
“…I want to be with you forever.”
“…Whoever she is, anyone who hears your poem would fall in love with you. She must be very happy.”
“Really?”
“The piano and the poem matched beautifully. I could tell you prepared hard.”
“That’s it?”
“Mhm. I could feel how much you love her—it made me happy too. Is it someone I know?”
At her question, Paradi gazed at her.
Yvonne tilted her head at his unreadable expression. He sighed deeply, stood abruptly, and walked toward her—then flicked her forehead.
“Ow!”
“Idiot. It’s a proposal poem.”
“I know that. That’s why I said she’d be happy.”
“It’s for *you*.”
“…Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“Uh… why me?”
“Why do you think? Anyway, that’s not the main point.”
Paradi knelt on one knee before her.
He took a small jewelry case from his pocket. Inside was a very old-fashioned diamond ring.
“It’s the proposal ring Princess Renée—your great-great-grandmother—received before her marriage. Nini. My Yvonne. I’m proposing to you right now.”
